Vintage Memories

Chapter One "A Bittersweet Memory"

The gentle night overshadowed the quiet cobblestone streets of New Orleans. Soft jazz bounced through the air with the lollop of flittering butterflies from the distant party scene of Bourbon Street. The neighborhood was quaint, with picturesque, Edwardian estates lining the streets, and their residents asleep in their beds. Not a home was lit, as it was now passing two in the morning. The only sources of light remaining were the scattered street lamps, and the reigning moon above them.

Two shadows slunk down the street, giggling to themselves as they hurried towards the source of the music. If they minded their time well, they could both get a few solid hours of reckless jollification before needing to return to avoid suspicion. The taller of the two profiles stepped into the light, his bleached-blonde hair with growing, dark roots acted almost reflective in the lamplight. He was a younger boy, no older than sixteen, tall and skinny, with porcelain, pale skin. The features he bore were soft—almost feminine in the gentle curves of his cheeks and jaw, and the effete upturn of his freckled nose. His timidly blue eyes, outlined in a soft hue of pink eyeshadow and mascara, turned to look at the trailing figure behind him.

"Hurry up, slow-ass!" His teasing, east coast accent was hushed to not alert any of the neighborhood residents. 

The second phantom picked up his pace, his dark-chocolate, slicked back hair and russet, brown skin shone briefly in the brilliance of the street lamp before he passed the other boy, a devilish grin on his face.

"If it is a race you want, mon cher, then it's you who will need to hurry up," he whispered back in a silvery, cajun intonation. 

Both boys broke into a full sprint, the only audible sounds being the muffled thudding of their shoes against the pavements, and a few quiet titters between their labored breaths. They could hear the growing volume of the music drawing near as they hurried out of the neighborhood and into the bustling town.

The radiant amasses of multicolor lights; the blaring, jovial music; the crowds of partying people; it felt like a breath of life in the soulless corpse of the desolate, late night. The two boys weaved through the maze of dancing and gyrating bodies. The shorter of the two boys grabbed the hand of his blonde companion, his amber eyes scanning the crowd for an exit from this mob.

"Stay close, cher. You wouldn't want to get lost now," the New Orleans native said.

The blonde nodded as his company guided them through the streets and up onto the sidewalk, providing them a minimal amount of breathing room from the partygoers.

"This is amazing!" His blue eyes darted everywhere in a hasty attempt to take in everything he could possibly harbor. 

He turned to his companion, devoting his attention to his form now that it was haloed in the colorful lights of the Mardi Gras parade. The New Orleans native—on the cusp of early adulthood—was dressed rather dapperly compared to himself, who just decided to wear a pair of comfortable jeans and a low cut, white shirt. His cajun friend adorned a well tailored brown vest over a cotton white shirt, paired fittingly with a pair of black pants and shoes. His deep, chocolate hair was short and neatly combed back, contrasting the blonde's longer and wild hair pulled back in a hastily set ponytail.

He minded his stature well, his posture poised and polite, coming up just an inch shorter than his compatriot. The brunette looked up at his evening cohort through the lenses of his glasses, the smile never faltering from his angular face. The blonde glanced down as an equanimous hand surrounded his own again.

"Follow me, I know a better spot." The cajun gentleman led his companion through the streets, diverting themselves from the bustling throng, and into an uninhabited alleyway. Perched against the brick wall, he gestured to a fire escape, before grasping the tarnished metal and hoisting himself up, ascending to the top of a two story building.